Fairweather Friends
by ASongInMyHead
Summary: Glock cannot help but see himself in Del's other most obvious outsider.


Glock stared at the small campfire, wishing he had something else to do. After he had managed to get Jasmine to tell him where she was going, and convince her to bring him along, they had spent the day traveling swiftly north, trading insults and avoiding questions. Jasmine had decided when they would camp for the night, stopping abruptly under a large tree in a small clearing. They had eaten quickly, and then he had announced that he would stay on guard first, only because he knew she would want to do the same. She had glared at him, knowing his game, but said nothing as she lay on the ground, not bothering with a bedroll. She had been asleep for a while, her furry companion tucked in the crook of her elbow, while her bird dozed somewhere in the canopy of the tree. Even Fury had settled, fast asleep in her cage. Glock, left alone, was terribly bored.

Jasmine turned in her sleep, and he looked over at her. She had looked lost, green eyes wide and glassy, when he had caught her fleeing the palace. She carried a deep sadness within her that went beyond what Jinks had told her about Lief's wife-to-be. Whatever that was, she would not say, and when he asked why she had decided to go to the Shadowlands so hastily, she had said frowned and said "there is someone who needs me."

It was strange how _need_ and _want_ were such different words, and yet sounded so similar.

But his reason was the same, and so he had followed, teasing and taunting until rage washed over her sadness and she became something more akin to the girl he knew.

But looking at her face lit by the flames, free for a moment from anger and pain, it struck him then how _young_ she was, how many horrors she had seen, and how easily she had been pushed aside by the people she had come to call family. He cursed Lief and Doom for giving her such a fate.

He suddenly cursed himself for not seeing the obvious solution to his boredom and wandering thought. Shoving a massive hand into his pack, he fished around until he pulled out a battered flask. He drank from it deeply, relishing the burn of the cheap brandy on his throat. When he set it down, Jasmine was awake and had fixed him with a poisonous glare.

"You said you would take first watch," she accused.

"I am."

"You cannot be on guard if you are _drunk_."

"I am not drunk," Glock countered, but he twisted the cap back on the flask. "I am _drinking_."

Jasmine made a sound of disgust and sat up, instantly alert.

"If you will not sleep, we may as well begin to plan our attack," he could practically taste blood between his teeth, and feel the glorious joy he felt only when fighting side-by-side with other Jalis. He had been denied the vicious pleasure of battle alongside true warriors for far too long. He imagined her, suddenly, swinging a sword and dressed in golden armour.

"I will figure it out once I see it," Jasmine said, bringing him back down. "But if your people are able to fight it will give us a great advantage. As for getting out; Doom escaped, and so I see no reason why I should not be able to."

 _Doom went in with his wife, and came out alone,_ Glock thought, but for once he held his tongue. _You might take after your mother, rather than your father._

Instead, he passed her the flask, which she shoved right back. He laughed, took another swig, and put it back in his bag. "I was only trying to be friendly, weakling."

She stared at him for a moment. "But you never are."

"No," he agreed. "And neither are you."

Was he imagining it, or was she smiling just a little?

"We are not so different, you and I," he went on, cursing the brandy for loosening his tongue, "whatever you might wish to believe. We are both outsiders and outcasts, are we not? But we are also the only ones who are willing to brave the Shadowlands and do what is right."

If Jasmine had been smiling, it was gone. She looked down into the fire; her eyes very far away "I do not know about that."

A cool nighttime wind blew about their campsite, rustling the leaves of the tree and stirring her tangled hair. Glock remembered his stupid words in the dining hall. _"Why go all the way to Tora for a wife? There are plenty of pretty girls in Del."_ He had only been thinking of one.

He leaned closer, the flames and the brandy warming his cheeks. "Will you tell me now, why you have run off like you have?"

"I cannot speak it aloud," she whispered in a strangled voice. "I could not bear it."

Whatever was clawing at her heart must have been yet another secret of Lief's. Glock had several reasons to dislike the king, and watching the girl's eyes well with unshed tears was another to add to his list.

"Get some sleep, weakling," he said, no heat in his voice. "Your turn for watch is coming soon."

The girl had turned her head to hide her tears, and she did not argue. Her breathing evened quickly, and Glock shook his head. Something had dulled her sharp-tongue. Whatever she was hiding was eating away at her from the inside. He leaned against the tree and settled in for a long night. He would not wake her, and she would be angry with him in the morning, but rest was the only gift he could offer.

Later, after she had clung desperately to his shoulders to stay afloat ("You cannot _swim_?" he had roared); after they had fought The Fear side-by side, her determined eyes meeting his own; as he felt a hot tear fall from her eye and mingle with blood spattered on his face he cursed himself. He cursed himself for being kind to her only once, for never even trying to be her friend, yet staring at her from afar. But as her fingers closed around his talisman he hoped that he had done that one thing right.

She was a warrior. Whatever she sought, she would surely find it.


End file.
